


Kiss it and Make it Better

by snarkymuch



Series: twisted around and backwards [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anxiety Attacks, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Tony Stark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Past Suicide Attempt, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Scars, Talking Like Adults, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, kisses happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-01 16:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: *This is a two part to my series based on my story Riding the Tiger. With some imagination, you might be able to muddle your way through this, but you really need to read the main story first to make sense.*When things between Steve, Bucky, and Tony begin to slowly move forward, Tony realizes he's going to need to bare his scars for his boyfriends to see. The idea sends him into a panic, but thankfully, Sam is in the right place at the right time to help him with his feelings. With some wisdom from Sam, he goes to face his fears and bring his relationship with Steve and Bucky a little closer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This will be in two chapters. I really wanted to do this for a while and I'm excited to share. This deals with the shame around scars, especially those given to yourself. 
> 
> Be safe.
> 
> A huge thanks to [andersonblaines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andersonblaines/pseuds/andersonblaines) for picking through this mess, and it was such a mess. I wrote this on my phone and autocorrect was a total little shit. I have toyed with this a bit after they got done, so it's so possible I made a mess again, so don't blame them. Anyway, that said. Enjoy!

It was late, and Tony had spent most of the day in his workshop. He hadn’t even realized so much time had passed until Steve came to find him.

“You know it’s almost ten,” Steve said, moving to stand behind him. His fingers trailed up Tony’s side, sending a shiver through him. “I thought we were going to spend some time together tonight.”

He sighed, reaching around and catching Steve’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He hummed as he leaned back into Steve’s body, enjoying the warmth radiating off him. “Sorry, there’s still time. Bucky’s not upset, is he?”

Steve wrapped his other arm him, pulling him tighter to his chest, leaning down and pressing his lips to Tony’s neck. He nipped and sucked at the skin there. “He’s fine.” His breath ghosted over his flesh. “Sent me to find you, actually, bring you back.”

Goosebumps spread over him, his breath stuttering, as Steve mouthed over his neck, lips brushing warm and soft against him. Tony made a noise low in his throat, his mouth going dry as his body reacted to the touch. Steve chuckled, warm breath sending a shiver through him as it brushed against his neck. “Have I made you forget about your project yet?”

Tony closed his eyes, leaning back and letting Steve take some of his weight. “Mm … food and a movie sound good.”

Steve hummed, his mouth back on the sensitive skin of his neck. “Good,” he breathed against him. Tony was pretty sure the little shit was smiling.

It didn't take long to close out his projects and then they were off to Tony's room. Bucky was stretched out on the bed, barefoot, wearing sweats and tank top, his arms crossed behind his head as he watched TV. He looked like he'd just showered, his hair still damp, tucked back behind his ears. He smirked, turning and pushing up on an elbow when they approached. "I was worried you'd forgot."

Tony toed off his shoes, kicking them to the side toward the dresser. "Sorry, I lost track of time."

Steve walked past, pulling open the dresser and grabbing a t-shirt. Tony's gaze lingered on him as he stripped off his old shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. He couldn't help but let his eyes map the lines of Steve's chest and stomach, the way everything seemed to lead his gaze to the perfect v of his hips.

Steve seemed to catch him staring and chuckled, his t-shirt held on his arms, ready to slip over his head. "See something you like?"

Tony's gaze flicked up from temptation to his face, the soldier's eyes glinting playfully as he smirked, stretching the shirt over his head.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're built like an Adonis. We've all noticed."

Steve closed the few steps to him and slipped a hand up to cup the back of Tony's head, fingers twisting in his hair, tugging lightly, the feeling going straight to his groin.

Steve pulled him closer, tilting his head, and slanting their lips together. His tongue swiped across the line of Tony's lips, asking for entrance, which he was happy to provide. Steve's other hand slid up Tony's chest and neck, then up to cup his jaw. Tony found himself opening his mouth wider, letting Steve take the lead, letting him explore his mouth.

The soldier kissed with the same passion and determination that he applied to everything else, his movements commanding and firm, and Tony found himself handing over control.

Bucky cleared his throat, and breathlessly, they broke their kiss. Tony glanced up to meet Steve's gaze before looking to Bucky, who had a brow raised and a smirk on his face. "Thought I should remind you two to breathe." He laughed.

"Thanks, Buck." Steve let his hand fall to the back of Tony's neck, rubbing there for a moment before drifting down his back to rest on his hip. "But I think we were doing fine."

With a laugh, Bucky shifted in the bed and made room on either side of him, his back propped up against the headboard. "Well, maybe instead of hogging all the fun you two can come over here. This was supposed to be a night about us."

Tony huffed, shaking his head playfully. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. We still have plenty of time. It's not even that late."

He turned to Steve, stretching up to nip at his bottom lip, hand going around him to grab his ass. The soldier growled and moved to catch his mouth with his, but Tony drew back with a smile. "Nope. I need to change first. I'm covered in grease."

The hand Steve had on his hip slipped lower, reaching behind him and cupping his ass, tugging him closer. "You watched me. Does that mean we get a show, too? We've never seen you without a shirt before."

His words hit him like a bucket of ice water, dousing any desire that had been building, reality crashing back in. He felt himself become tense at the mere idea of them seeing his scars. His heart jumped to his throat. He knew this day would come, when they would take the next step, but he still wasn't ready for it. The fear of rejection, the shame at what he'd done, and what had been done to him. He wasn't prepared to face that.

He blinked, pulling away from Steve and taking a few steps closer to the dresser. Turning his back on the men, he put his hands on the dresser and leaned against it for support, letting his head hang as he caught his breath. He was on the verge of a panic attack. It was like he could feel every scar on his body, hyper-aware of their presence. He had to look down at his arm to make sure the sleeve was still covering him, that he wasn't unprotected.

"Tony." Steve's voice came from right behind him. "What's wrong?"

Unable to force the words out, he just shook his head. Gritting his teeth, he breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself, but it didn’t work. He pushed himself back and pulled open the top drawer, digging with shaky hands through the bottles of pills, flipping them and reading their labels. He sucked in a breath when he found the Valium, fumbling with the safety lid. Everything felt like too much, and he couldn't get the damn thing open.

A hand brushed against his arm, and he jumped, nearly dropping bottle. With wild eyes, he looked to see a concerned Steve, his hand reaching for the container. "I can open it," he said. "How many do you need?"

Tony blinked at him, passing the bottle to him. He tried to wet his lips, but his mouth had gone too dry. "Two."

Steve held his gaze for a moment and then took the bottle, turning it in his fingers and reading the label. "It says to take one, so that's what I'm giving you."

If he wasn't spiraling into chaos, Tony would have taken them back and gotten them out himself, but he _was_ spiraling, and beggars couldn't be choosers, so he'd deal with only one.

Running a trembling hand through his hair, he watched Steve pop open the bottle and shake one out into his palm. Closing the container, he tossed it back in the drawer and handed him the small, white pill.

Plucking it from Steve’s hand, he threw it into his mouth and chewed it quickly, face twisting at the bitter taste. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to bring it under control. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move and flinched, turning his head to see Bucky standing beside him, his eyes searching.

Unable to hold his gaze, he looked back to the drawer, pushing it closed. His hands gripped the wood of the dresser so hard that it pushed the blood from his fingertips, turning them white. He drew a stuttering breath and tried to control it as he let it out through his mouth. He knew they were waiting for an explanation, for him to say something, but he couldn't even get his own thoughts straights, let alone explain them.

Steve and Bucky seemed to understand he needed time to work things out as neither of them moved to touch him or speak. The Valium slowly began to take effect—not as well as two would have been, but it did the job. His head felt lighter, and the tightness in his chest eased. He clung to the dresser for a few more minutes until he felt steady enough to let go. Lifting his head, he glanced at Steve and then to Bucky, their faces marked with concern and unasked questions.

Not sure what to say, he turned and walked to the bed, plonking down and resting his forearms on his knees, hanging his head. He heard his boyfriends’ approach, each taking a seat on either side of him, their bodies just brushing against each other.

Lifting his head, he clasped his hands together, looking over to Steve on his right. “So, yeah, that happened.”

Steve's brows were pinched together, a frown touching his lips. “Did I do something to trigger you?”

He looked away, instead staring unfocused at the ridiculous poster of his Iron Man mask on the wall—something Rhodey had gifted him. He drew a breath, letting his shoulders fall as he exhaled. “Kinda—not really. I liked everything we were doing. It was good—really good.”

“Then what happened?” Steve asked. “I’ve never seen you come undone that fast before.”

He shrugged a shoulder, toying with the fabric of his left sleeve. It was the only thing standing in the way of them seeing the ugly scar from his failed suicide attempt.

Working his jaw, he tried to find the words. It wasn't like they didn't know he had scars, he'd told them before, but letting them see for themselves made him feel vulnerable in a way nothing else had.

Each told a story and held different emotions. From the line cutting its way up his arm that brought shame, to the mark on his chest where Steve’s shield had driven the broken reactor into his flesh. Scars were crisscrossing his back from the whip that left traces of resentment behind—at who he was and what was done to him, then down to the smallest of them all—the crescent bite mark on his shoulder that never let him forget the forms true evil could take.

In a way, it was the smallest one that held the most emotion. It was saturated in feeling shame, but a different kind than he felt for the scar on his arm. This shame felt dirty and wrong—a feeling impossible to wash away, and he'd tried. It was a reminder of his weakest moment, of when he'd lost a piece of himself that he'd never get back.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the room to stand in front of the poster, rubbing a hand against the scars on his chest. His anxiety was no longer threatening to drag him under, but he was far from okay.

Spinning on his heel, he looked to his boyfriends, both watching him with concern.

“Doll—” Bucky started.

Tony cut him off, shaking his head and putting up his hands. “Look, it’s not you. It's me. God, I sound like such an ass saying that, but it's true.”

Steve pushed himself to his feet, taking a step closer, hands out at his sides. “What's going on? Tell me we're okay—you're okay.”

His eyes went wide, realizing the mixed signals he must be sending. Nodding a few times quickly, he raked a hand through his hair. He swore he could feel the scars burning hot against his skin, wanting their secrets told. He had to resist the urge to scratch at his arm.

“We’re fine, I swear.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again and meeting Steve’s gaze. “I just need to walk this off. Can we talk later? I need to breathe. There's not enough air in here.”

Tony knew he sounded a bit unhinged, but considering how he felt, he thought he was doing pretty good.

Steve frowned and nodded slowly. “Alright. Do you want us to come with you?”

He shook his head. “I promise I won't be long—just give me a few minutes to get my head straight.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you here. Take your time.”

Tony slipped from the bedroom and padded through the halls toward the kitchen, socked feet sliding on the smooth floors. He rounded the corner to the kitchen and groaned internally when he saw the soft lights of the kitchen glowing warmly—someone else was up.

Sitting at the island, flipping through a magazine, was Sam. He lifted his head and raised his brows at Tony’s approach. “Hey.”

Tony nodded to him, making his way to the fridge and pulling out a water. He twisted off the cap and took a long pull, plastic bottle crackling. He rubbed at his temple, trying to ease the tension building behind his eyes.

He needed to get away. With a small wave in Sam's direction, he made to leave. “Catch ya later.”

Sam flipped the magazine closed, straightening in his seat. “I know we're not close, but you look like someone that needs to talk.”

Taking another sip of water, Tony considered his options. Stay and try to pretend he was okay or make an escape.

“I’m fine.”

Sam raised a brow, his gaze seeming to cut right through his bullshit. “Maybe I'm overstepping, but I know that look. I've seen enough of it down at the VA.” Resting his arms on the counter, he leaned forward. “You don't have to tell me, but something’s happened to you, hasn't it?”

Tony's jaw twitched, and his shoulders tightened.

Sam nodded, seeming to see the answer in Tony’s response. “Thought as much. You know if you ever need to talk, I've got some experience—maybe not in exactly what went down for you—but still. I’ve heard some pretty rough stories down at the center.”

Tony’s jaw clicked as he clenched it, pondering the situation. Something about Sam seemed to make him want to talk, and it scared him shitless.

Digging at the label of the bottle with his thumb, he cleared his throat, eyes drifting from Sam's face. “Afghanistan—I didn't leave the same way I went in, and I don't mean the reactor or the shrapnel.”

He heard Sam draw a breath, and he glanced over to see him looking thoughtful. “The kind of guys that had you—I'm guessing torture was on the menu.”

Tony took another gulp of water and gave a tight nod.

“And what they did, it hasn't really left you.”

“Steve and Bucky—they know, mostly, but not the details. They've never seen”—he cleared his throat—“never seen the scars.”

To Sam's credit, he didn't ask. He just accepted what Tony offered. “So, tonight?”

“Yeah. I wanted to show them, but I couldn't.”

Sam held his gaze. “The Steve Rogers I know wouldn't judge you for what you've been through—and neither would Barnes.”  

Tony downed the last of the water and tossed the bottle into the recycling. He glanced at Sam before looking away. It wasn't just the scars from his torture—it was the one he'd inflicted on himself.

“Is there something else? I won’t repeat anything you say. This can be between us—confidential.”

Tony wasn’t sure why it was so tempting to open up to Sam, but it was. He found himself wanting to talk about things he normally never would. Maybe this was progress. Pepper would be proud.

“What if all my scars weren’t from there? What if they came from somewhere else?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I don't follow. Did something else happen to you?”

Tony licked his lips. This was his chance to expand his little circle of trust—of people who knew the truth. He could back away, but he might not get the chance again.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Tony scratched at his chin, studying Sam. “Confidential?”

“Of course.”

Running a hand over his face, Tony sucked in a breath. “Doing your thing, you've probably run into some different stuff.”

“Yeah, man, definitely. Though I still don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yeah, okay. So, let me just say it.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut and spoke in a rush of words. “I am bipolar. I _have_ bipolar. However you want to say it.”

There was a short stretch of silence that felt like it went on forever. Tony opened his eyes and watched Sam, who was looking thoughtful again.

“Huh,” Sam said. “Well, that's cool. Thanks for telling me.”

Tony blinked. “Cool? That's it?”

“Yeah, what did you expect?”

“I don't know—shock, judgement—anything other than cool.”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you, man. I'm not here to judge. So, back to your earlier question, about the scars? Now that I've got some context, you wanna talk?”

He sighed. “I went through a bad spell while you guys were in Wakanda.” He rubbed at his forearm through his sleeve. “I was in a bad place.”

Sam nodded a few times, eyes falling to Tony's arm before leveling his gaze on him. “You know that you have us now. You're not alone. If you ever feel that way again …”

“I know,” Tony sighed. “Well, I'm trying to know. I got some good people in my corner.”

“You got us all in your corner.” He tipped his head. “And you don't need to be ashamed of your scars—whether from yourself or others. Scars aren't something to be ashamed of—they show you fought and survived. They're marks of strength—not weakness. Don't ever forget that.”

Could he ever think of them as marks of strength? He wanted to, but they had represented so much else for so long.

His thoughts turned to Bucky and the scars he carried from his time with Hydra. There was no question what they meant—they were proof of his strength, his will to fight and survive. Tony would never judge Bucky’s scars in the light he judged his own. Maybe it was time he started being kinder to himself.

With a new perspective, he thanked Sam and said goodnight, heading back to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer than my estimate. I hope you like it. A huge thanks to andersonblaines for the amazing beta job!

Tony's hand hovered over the doorknob to his room, fingers twitching, as he gathered himself enough to enter. Taking a steadying breath, he grabbed the handle and let himself into the room.

Stepping inside, his eyes immediately swept the room for his boyfriends. He found them both sitting on the couch by the far wall, side by side.

Steve was leaning back into the corner of the cushions, turned a little to face Bucky, and Bucky was sitting forward with his forearms resting on his knees, head hanging. Steve’s hand was tucked around the inside of Bucky’s thigh, thumb moving back and forth rhythmically against the cotton of his sweats. They both looked up to meet his gaze.

Pushing the door closed, he held up a hand, wiggling his fingers. “Hey.”

They moved to stand, but Tony shook his head. “I think we should all be sitting for this.”

He crossed the room, collapsing into the chair beside the couch. Sighing, he glanced at Steve and Bucky. Their expressions were open but a touch concerned.

“You were gone for a while, everything alright?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded quickly, his hands clasped in his lap. “Yeah, yeah.”

He drew a breath, gaze falling to his hands as he began to absently pick at a hangnail on his thumb. “Sam was in the kitchen—we got talking about some things.”

Bucky tilted his head, his eyes finding Tony’s. “Things like work or things like what's going on with you?”

“Like me.”

He tore at the small piece of skin by his nail, sending a jolt of pain through his thumb. Glancing down, he saw a small bead of blood welling from the tiny wound. He wiped it away on his jeans.

“Babe,” Bucky sighed, making him look up. He sounded tired, eyes flicking between Tony’s thumb and face. “Please don't do that.”

“Sorry,” Tony said, a little stab of guilt cutting him. He hadn't even realized he’d been doing it—the sharp edges of pain acted like an anchor for him, keeping the riptide of his emotions from pulling him under.

As though it was mocking him, the small wound on his thumb continued to bleed. He hadn’t meant to tear the skin so deep. Annoyed, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pressed a small spot of the fabric against the wound. The slow throb of pain helped ease his nerves, though, giving him something to focus on.

Steve shifted, so he was sitting forward more. “We don't have to talk tonight. Maybe we should just turn in, deal with whatever this is another day.”

Tony glanced up at him for a second before looking back to where he held his hand. He thought over Steve’s proposal. It would be easy to put this off, shelf it for another day, but he was tired of it hanging over him.

Peeling back the shirt from his thumb, he took in the drying blood gathered around his nail, feeling a bittersweet mixture of emotions. He’d be lying if he said looking at it didn't soothe something inside him, but at the same time, it came at the cost of twisted shame and guilt.

Tony pushed himself to his feet and paced the distance between the sitting area and the bed, a hand going to his head, fingers knotting in his hair.

His emotions were beginning to get the better of him again. He didn't understand why it had to be so hard, why the idea of baring himself seemed so impossible.

Frustrated with his own mind, he paused his pacing, his other hand joining the first, so they both were grasping at his hair. Growling, he let his knees fold, and he fell into a crouch, head hung with his hands laced behind it.

Someone cursed and there was a soft shuffling of fabric, but he didn't pay it any attention. His breaths were starting to stutter and become erratic. Squeezing his eyes shut, he began breaking down equations in his head, trying to distract himself.

Warm, calloused hands gently took his own. He didn’t need to look to know it was Bucky. Using a firm but careful touch, his hands eased Tony’s hands from his hair, bringing them together in front of him. Bucky's larger hands easily wrapped around his, holding them securely in his own as his thumbs rubbed soothingly against Tony’s skin.

It felt good—the touch grounding him in a way that even pain couldn't. The tightness in his chest eased, and he was able to draw a deeper breath.

Opening his eyes, he was met with Bucky’s soft yet worried ones. The man was crouched in front of him, head ducked so he could make eye contact with Tony, his hair falling around his face.

Tony sucked in another breath, letting it out slowly.

Bucky smiled, and keeping Tony's hands held in one hand, he reached up with his free hand and brushed it over Tony's cheek. “That's it, doll. Few more easy breaths like that.”

Tony did as he said, making his lungs expand and contract as evenly as he could.

Bucky kept his hands on him, grounding him with his touch.

His knees began to protest, though, and he had to move.

“Can you help me up?” His voice was a little raspy, and he coughed to clear it.

Bucky nodded, adjusting his grip on Tony's hands, standing and pulling him to his feet with him.

Tony's knees popped and clicked as he stood, his legs tingling as the circulation returned. God, he felt old.

“What can we do, Tony?” Steve asked, making Tony take notice of him. He was standing beside Bucky, brows pinched together, his mouth wearing the slightest hint of a frown.

With a quick look between them, Tony bit at the inside of his cheek. “I want to show you something—both of you, but I'll be honest, doing it scares the shit out of me.”

Bucky's brow wrinkled. “Hey, you don't need to be scared around us. Nothing you could show us would change anything.”

“I have a feeling what this is about and Buck’s right,” Steve said. “You don't need to show us if you’re not ready.”

Tony blinked, looking at Steve in surprise. “You know?”

“If it's about your scars, then yeah. I put it together after you left.”

“Oh,” Tony said, hand going to rub at his arm. “Yeah, I kinda freaked out, huh?”

“Like I said, Tony, you don't need to show us anything. If you always want to wear a shirt around us, that's fine. I should have thought before I said anything.”

Bucky stepped closer, reaching out and pressing his palm against the side of Tony's neck, thumb moving against the line of his jaw. “Babe, I think you know that nothing would ever change how I feel about you. You don't need to do a thing.”

Tony reached up and touched the hand on his neck. “Thanks, Buck, but I think it's time I stopped hiding.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, nodding.

Taking a step back, Bucky's hand fell, and Tony took a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

Grabbing the cuff of his right sleeve, he pulled his arm through and then grabbed the bottom of the shirt, tugging it over his head and off his other arm.

He tossed the shirt to the floor beside him and let out the breath he was holding.

Lifting his head, he let his left arm fall to his side, hand held in a loose fist. He turned it, so the scar that ran up the underside was exposed.

A tremor was spreading its way through his body as he stood more naked than he'd ever been. His hands twitched, and he licked his lips, eyes fixed on his boyfriends, awaiting their reactions—their judgment.

A few beats past and the only sounds were the quiet breaths of the three of them. Steve and Bucky held their gaze on Tony's face like they were seeking permission. He gave a slow, hesitant nod, his jaw tightening. For a few moments, no one moved, then the other men's eyes began trailing a path downward.

Steve's eyes seemed to catch on the scars of his chest, his mouth twitching at the sight. Tony had to resist the urge to reach up and cover them—wanting to protect Steve from the pain of the past.

Bucky’s eyes swept past the scars that held Steve's and settled on the one tracing up his arm. He studied it for a moment before returning his gaze to his face. “Doesn’t change a thing, doll—still love you just the same.”

And then Bucky was closing the distance between them. Reaching up, he took Tony's face between his hands and then pressed his lips to his forehead.

Despite how hard he was trying to hold himself together, his breath still caught, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a shiver spreading through him.

Bucky's hands slipped from Tony’s face, falling to rest on his bare shoulders. “You're so perfect, so brave, doll.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist as a tear rolled down his cheek. He tucked his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his body wash.

Bucky's hands slid from his shoulders and down his back. Tony wondered if he could feel the faint edges of the scars there etching his skin.

He jumped when suddenly another set of hands were on him, feather-light fingertips tracing over his back, following each line that crossed his skin. His heart skipped a beat, and he struggled to pull in a breath, pressing his forehead further into Bucky’s neck.

Steve's fingers trailed up toward his shoulder, and then he heard the soldier’s breath catch. He didn't need to ask to know what it was that gave him pause—the small crescent scar was unmistakable.

Tony's muscles tensed and a fresh wave of shame washed over him, settling like a stone in his stomach. He thought he was ready, but he didn't want Steve to see it—didn't want him to touch it. He was too pure to touch something so wrong, so dirty.

Steve let his hands slide down his back and sides until they were resting on his hips. Giving them a gentle squeeze, he stepped closer, so his chest was brushing against Tony's back.

“You’re so strong,” Steve said.

And then something happened that made his heart slam unevenly in his chest, and his breath escape him: a pair of soft lips were pressed against the small scar his rapist had left behind.

His emotions collided like a storm front inside him, shaking him to his core. No one should want to touch him after what had happened to him.

Tony shook his head, feeling himself beginning to panic, the safety of their arms now feeling more like a prison.

Bucky pressed a kiss to his hair, whispering reassurances in his ear. “Just keep breathing. You're so perfect and beautiful, baby. You gotta know that.”

Steve lifted his lips from the scar, giving Tony's hips a squeeze. “Are you okay?”

Knotting his fingers in Bucky's shirt, Tony lifted his head and gave a quick nod.

“You don't seem it, babe,” said Bucky.

“It’s just a lot.” He took a stuttering breath, putting his head back on Bucky’s shoulder. “You don't need to pretend they don't bother you.”

“What?” Steve’s grip tightened on his hips. “Tony, none of them bother me, and I'm sure they don't bother Bucky either.”

Bucky pulled back enough that Tony had to lift his head. Bucky caught his eye, face serious. “I love every part of you—scars and all. Just like I hope you do me. Even though they were born from pain, it doesn't mean they're ugly.”

Tony drew a breath. “I can't ever forget, though. Every time I see them, I remember it all.”

Steve slid his hands up to hold his waist. “Then we'll just have to give you new memories, better ones.”

And then Steve's lips brushed against the bite scar again, and this time, something warm began to blossom in his chest, replacing the echoes of shame.

Closing his eyes, he wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be really honest, I'm having a super shitty time atm, I've had the same headache for days, and I just feel awful. Even though it's getting nice out, my body has decided it's a great time to get depressed. I'm not sure exactly when I'll have another one of these up, but I will try to write something. No promises in when it'll be done though. I'm just feeling really crappy. Anyway, let me know what you think. Comments feed my muse which inspires me. Thanks, snarks

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr and say hi or send a prompt. I'm always willing to give prompts a try--though sometimes I just fail at them. [Snarky-drabbles](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/)


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